The Land of the Rising Sun Transfers to Another World

Chapter 123: Crumbling Peace

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- ワイアード

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Gobba Mountains, Second World Eastern Frontier

Children were playing jump rope with an old, frayed rope.

"The goat at the pasture broke through the fence and ran away!"

"One, two, three, four!"

Lush, verdant forests stretched across the mountain range. The Gobba Mountains served as one of the sanctuaries for those fleeing the clutches of the Covenant and the Lemurian Empire. Its intricate terrain, dense forests, and towering peaks acted as natural barriers to invaders, turning it into a fortress by nature.

Here lived a diverse community—nomads who had lost their homeland, and demi-humans who struggled to survive in the current Second World. While other sanctuaries existed, none in the East could rival the safety and solace provided by this place.

There was another reason for its strategic importance, besides its natural defenses: the presence of magical ore, including abundant mithril, which nullified the power of levitation stones. Airships relied on flight stones to lift and maneuver. When their power was suppressed, airships became useless. Even a small quantity of the ore could significantly disrupt an airship's operation.

While enemy bombardments occasionally struck the area, the terrain and strategic advantage prevented a direct assault. Bombardments remained out of range, and if enemies ventured in, they faced relentless guerrilla tactics.

With the sky no longer a threat, all available forces could focus on ground defenses. Leveraging the terrain, the defenders held the upper hand, maintaining the Gobba Mountains as a haven for centuries—300 years, to be precise.

A beautiful forest at the foot of these mountains became a beloved playground for children. Their cheerful play, oblivious to the threats beyond, painted a scene that belied the looming danger. Children of all races played together in harmony, unaware of the precarious circumstances surrounding their lives.

Watching over them warmly was a young man.

His name was Do Rugi, a warrior of the Perrojas, humans with red-hued skin. His rugged attire—a leather armor and a hunting rifle slung across his back—gave him the appearance of a lightly equipped ranger.

"Hey, Mifu. Be careful, or you'll trip again!"

"I'm fine, Big Brother!"

Mifu, a Perroja girl dressed in attire resembling Mongolian traditional clothing, played exuberantly on a handmade wooden toy. Rugi watched her with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

But his vigilance never wavered. Today, more than ever, his senses were sharpened.

'It's almost noon, and there's still no shelling from the Covenant. Usually, they'd be firing all day except at night. Their bombardments have decreased, for the past week and today, nothing at all.'

On typical days, the booming of the Covenant's heavy artillery would echo incessantly. Yet today, silence reigned. Unease gnawed at Rugi from the morning onward.

Raising his voice, he called out to the children playing in the forest.

"Hey! Time to head back into the mountains!"

"Nooo, I don't wanna!"

"I wanna keep playing!"

"If you don't listen, you're skipping lunch."